To tell someone you love them,
You must first gather the words.
You must search through the weeds in your brain,
Until you find just a few flowers,
That are the right colors to fit your sentiments.
Once you have plucked the love stained roses,
You must shave off the thorns that remain attached,
Standing as barriers between your words,
And the soft flesh of their ears.
By the time you have arranged this bouquet of a phrase,
Into and order that is lovely enough to give,
You will be forced to notice that you are bleeding.
And now, you might turn around to search for a bandage,
Realizing that you have given yourself all the care that you can.
Now, you will fear that the blood on your flowers has poisoned them,
And made them unworthy of offering.
But before you have time to realize,
Your heart has taken control in an attempt to keep pumping,
And spatter the floral crime scene into midair.
You will sit and stare at the evidence of your frailty,
When you see a garden blossoming before you.
And the petals will fall from their lips, as they open their mouths
To swallow the words you have bestowed upon them.
And the next time their mouth opens,
Out will pour violets that are colored with bruises.
You will taste the richness of purple as the scent of springtime shows you
The seeds of your words growing into a world
That was well worth the Briar ******.
Somehow, you will find in your garden,
Lilies and Sunflowers,
Tulips and Hydrangeas,
And some you had no way of knowing.
And then you will realize,
That you alone could make Roses,
And they alone, Violets,
But as your stems intertwined,
You made something that goes beyond
Gardens
Or Forests.
You created a season that
Goes beyond Springtime.
Your meager rosebloods
Have flowered into
A New world,
The only world,
Where the harvest is fuller with every kiss,
And sweeter with every caress.
This world will call for care,
And be in need of upkeep,
But you will always find more seeds to plant,
And more room to grow.
Because although this world has
Been watered with Blood
and Planted with bruises,
It will grow far beyond damage,
and fill you with the spirit of the very first rose,
And remind you,
What each petal meant.